The Vengeful Wind
by Morninglight
Summary: Sequel to The Bruma Wind. With Alduin and her son dead, Aurelia Dragon-Born gathers dragon and Stormcloak alike to wreak vengeance on the Thalmor. But her bonds with Balgruuf will be tested as she marches alongside a man who understands suffering at the hands of the Thalmor and the Thu'um like no other. Only Akatosh knows the destiny of the Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1

Note: Part 2 of the Dragonborn!Lia series. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

…

The Emperor's Tower had been decked out with all the comforts of home for Titus Mede II, forced to leave Cyrodiil for this godsforsaken snowy wasteland that still produced half the Legions and therefore couldn't be allowed to become independent. But all the oranges, sacred lotuses and silks in the world couldn't ease the palsied tremor in the Emperor's body with the news carried by Legion courier from Cyrodiil.

It was Tullius, as talented a general as he was tactless, who softly cursed first. He and Legate Rikke exchanged worried glances, having dragged in a bound and gagged Armaund Motierre for judgment. Now the Elder Councillor – once his closest male kin but for Martin – was dead and his soul trapped in an appropriate black gem. Titus would use it to fuel the beacon at Bruma he planned to light the boy's (and Irkand Aurelius') graves.

Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun, as close to a cosmopolitan man as this cursed province could produce, had made a sign against evil; Titus would give the few remaining years of his life to know how the man had known of his secret bastard son. Then again, it had been the Jarl who entrapped Motierre into speaking treason plainly before General Tullius…

"So, I will go to my grave alone; Aurelia in the sea, Martin in the snow. A punishment for my arrogance, I suppose," Titus finally croaked. The magical bond between him and his Companion had snapped months ago, driving him north; the Aurelii woman had been his last, best chance at diplomacy and she'd failed him by dying in a shipwreck.

Again that troubled gaze flashed between Tullius, Rikke and Balgruuf. "I am sorry for the loss of your son, more than you know," the Jarl said quietly. "A Nord Emperor again after so many years…"

"Fuck you and fuck Skyrim!" Titus finally allowed his rage and grief to surface. "If you stupid bastards had understood that only the public worship of Talos was forbidden, all of this would have been avoided, and you would have had your fucking Nord Emperor!"

Balgruuf's ice-blue eyes narrowed. "If you weren't an old grieving man, Emperor or not I'd have you in the battle-circle for that," he growled dangerously. "It was Nord blood that built this Empire and Nord blood that sustains it."

"You dare speak back to your Emperor?" Titus laughed bitterly, turning it into a coughing fit after a few moments. "Fucking Nords. You got off lightly last war. I should withdraw the Legions and protect Cyrodiil."

"Good luck leaving with only half your Legions," Balgruuf responded grimly.

"Good luck protecting yourself against the Thalmor," Titus retorted. "Now fuck off, all of you, and let an old man grieve in peace."

"Maro!" Tullius bellowed out the name and the Commander of the Penitus Oculatus appeared in a trice. "Put a suicide watch on the Emperor. He just got word about Martin and Irkand's deaths and he's not taking it well."

Maro's shrewd gaze took in the grimly offended expressions of Rikke and Balgruuf and the troubled one of Tullius, then nodded slowly. "I'll do that-"

Something heavy landed outside, making the ground shake, and the Commander swore. "What the fuck-?"

Balgruuf calmly walked to the glass window and looked outside. Titus unwillingly joined him and found a big red dragon in the courtyard of Castle Dour, looking up at them with a fiery golden gaze. A… figure in rusty-black robes, wearing a metallic mask, dismounted easily. There was something familiar in their – no, her – posture; he noted her hips swayed, even beneath the enveloping linen, as she turned towards the Emperor's Tower. Balgruuf held up a hand in greeting and slowly, the woman responded.

"The Dragonborn has arrived," the Jarl of Whiterun announced softly. "Talos have mercy on us all."

"We didn't hear that," Tullius said pointedly, looking at Maro, who slowly nodded.

"Bex!"

And the doors to the Tower opened instantly, their locks snapped, because the Penitus Oculatus had fallen back in fear.

"One side, Gaius Maro the Younger," warned a muffled woman's voice, cold and flat with negative emotion.

"By the Eight and One…" Maro's eldest boy breathed. "Is that-?"

"Please don't spoil the surprise." The woman's tone was bitter.

"As you wish… Dragonborn." The clink of metal told Titus that Gaius had stepped aside, the worthless coward-

The Dragonborn flung open the doors to the dining room where Titus was meeting with the Legionnaires and the Jarl. Balgruuf had tensed, his expression creased with worry and sorrow, and the Dragonborn looked to him first. "I know," she said sorrowfully. "I met him in Sovngarde."

Then she was pulling down her hood, revealing a shoulder-length fall of black hair threaded with silver, and removing the mask to bare a painfully familiar face of Imperial angles carved to perfection, marred by scars crisscrossing her nose and cheek. Titus gasped – half in shock, half in outrage – until he met the slanted turquoise eyes that dared look at him directly instead of from a Companion's lowered gaze. The whites had vanished, turquoise filling the entire field, and her pupils were slit… like the beast outside.

"Please don't shoot Odahviing. He is my second," Aurelia Too-Tall announced with the cold dignitas of a grieving woman.

"Alduin is dead then," Balgruuf stated. Titus tore his gaze from his Companion to study the man's body language; everything about the Jarl's posture screamed affection, worry and possession. Had that… woman… lain with him?

"Yeah, for what's it worth." Aurelia's face flickered with pain before she turned her draconic eyes onto Rikke and Tullius. "I will need the intel for every Thalmor installation in Skyrim and Cyrodiil."

"We'll get it to you," Rikke promised. "But… the Empire isn't ready for a war against the Thalmor."

"No, it is not. But they killed my son after Nurancar the Younger tried to kill me and died in the attempt." Aurelia's voice was almost commonplace, discussing Martin's death.

"I don't care what the fuck you've become, but the Legion isn't yours to command!" Titus quavered warningly.

"No, it is not." Aurelia's eyes glowed and not just from the light of the candles. "The Empire won't be going to war with the Dominion."

"By the Nine…" Balgruuf breathed.

"I, Aurelia Dragon-Born, will be going to war with them. I am Rekthursedovah, Overlady of the Dragons. Alduin's Bane. Stru'undul, the Stormcrown. Dovahsebrom, the Dragon of the North." She regarded Titus distantly. "Any hold you had on me is dead with our son, Titus Mede. Your life or death is of no concern to me."

Titus lifted his head proudly. "If I hadn't chosen you, you would be nothing more than another Aurelii slut with a reused cognomen."

"Maybe, maybe not." Aurelia shrugged. "But I am now Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold and Thane of Whiterun, Morthal and Falkreath, all through my own efforts instead of sucking your old withered cock."

Tullius made a choking sound as Rikke looked grimly satisfied. Titus looked pointedly at Balgruuf. "No, it looks like you were sucking _his_ instead."

"Actually, he went down on me." Aurelia's gaze warmed for a moment as she looked at Balgruuf.

The Jarl stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder familiarly. "Getting into a pissing match with the father of your son will do nothing but cause trouble," he advised gently. "I have my own opinions about him choosing you when you were still practically a child, but if you are going to unleash the Thu'um on the Thalmor, you'll need the Empire on your side."

Aurelia swallowed thickly, eyes glittering with moisture for a moment before an angry dash of her hand removed it, and nodded. "You're right," she admitted softly to the Jarl who was obviously her lover.

"If you break the White-Gold Concordat, I will disown your actions," Titus warned, unable to believe the gods had given this… _whore_… such power. He was the Emperor, the living symbol of continuity and victory. He'd won the Battle of the Red Ring.

That draconic gaze swung his way again. "Not a single word of comfort for my grief. Fuck you, Titus. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

She squared her shoulders and turned up her palm, calling a small fireball. "Threaten or harm Balgruuf, his family or my clan and I will claim the Ruby Throne by right of arms."

Maro the Elder and Tullius tensed, but Gaius simply bowed – as he would to the Emperor – and said, "Of course, my lady."

"Gaius, what the hell-"

"Imperial law is quite precise, Father. In the order of succession, a Dragonborn trumps all other claims. With all respect, the Emperor is old and now heirless. If Lady Aurelia can pull off what she claims – and she implied _dragons_, not just the one she rode in on – then she will have the right to the Ruby Throne."

"For the death of Alduin, she'll have the Nord Legions," Rikke confirmed, sounding far more satisfied than she should.

"And many of the Jarls," Balgruuf agreed. "Perhaps even Ulfric, if she can sweet-talk him enough."

Titus stared at the woman who'd been physically moulded into a form which pleased him yet had somehow managed to keep her true self concealed. "So, the Aurelii's long game becomes apparent," he observed bitterly.

"Martin was always meant to be Emperor," Aurelia responded softly, sadly. "I never wanted this. I'd trade every Shout and moment of glory for him to be brought back."

He believed her, oddly enough. "But you can't."

"No, I can't. But I can make sure that the Thalmor weep instead."

"You're talking genocide, Aurelia."

"I said 'Thalmor', not Altmer. The plan is that when I've destroyed enough of their bases on the mainland, they'll gather an army and invade again. Then I will unleash hell upon them."

Titus glared at her. "They will attack with assassins and stealth. Your clan, your… friend… Everyone will be in danger!"

"And what should I do? Wait until I'm old and grey like you?" Aurelia's voice cracked, raw rage and grief bleeding into her tone. "No! I will avenge my son – my family! – even if it's the last thing I do."

"How like a fucking Nord, thinking only of yourself and no one else," Titus responded bitterly. "Go then, go and be damned to you. I rue the day I ever met you."

"Not surely half as much as I rue being chosen by you," Aurelia retorted, cold hate in her voice now. "Every time you treated me like shit for daring to have an opinion, for teaching Martin about his heritage-!"

She cut herself off with a chop of a gloved hand, shaking her head. "Martin deserved better parents than the pair of us. At least he's in Sovngarde now."

Tullius, hitherto silent, took a deep breath. "You know you'll need more than dragons to fight the Thalmor."

"Yes. That's why my ground-troops will hopefully be the Stormcloaks." Aurelia's smile at Tullius' gasp was mirthless. "The Empire can completely deny any support of my actions."

The Dragonborn – yes, Titus had to admit those alien eyes proclaimed her status as Chosen of Akatosh – folded her arms and regarded everyone in the room. "This isn't a war of justice or power. This is a war of pure vengeance. Vengeance for the Blades. Vengeance for the dead of the Great War and the purges. Vengeance for the sons and daughters of Tamriel slain in a theological dispute."

"You will go down as one of the worst warmongers in Tamrielic history," Titus warned softly.

Aurelia looked at him with those draconic eyes. "If hundreds of deaths saves thousands of lives, that's a balance I can live with. Just don't you dare take vengeance on those I have come to care for, Titus, or you will join the Thalmor on their pyres."

Then she exited, leaving the threat of vengeance in her wake. Even her lover Balgruuf looked troubled, though he said nothing.

Titus shuddered as he realised that the future of Tamriel rested in the hands of a dragoness with no reason to love him and every reason to want him dead. Akatosh have mercy on them all.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing.

…

"I am sorry for your loss."

Ulfric was surprised by his sincerity as the Dragonborn nodded to accept his condolences. Farkas and Vilkas of the Companions had confirmed Martin Aurelius Mede's presence in Sovngarde, indicating he'd died well despite being a child. The Jarl of Windhelm was admittedly more astonished at Irkand Aurelius, a man who'd spat on Talos and literally defiled an Amulet of the Hero-God, showing up in the Hall of Valour. But Aurelia's terse explanation had been the man sacrificed his hope of an honourable afterlife to secure safety for his family, a sacrifice Ulfric could respect, even if in the end it had been for naught. Perhaps Shor agreed and allowed him inside.

"It was the Thalmor," she said starkly. She'd arrived here a few hours ago, flying a dragon while Hrafn the Foe-Reaper had followed afoot, some of his more aggressive sons in tow.

"A Nord Emperor would be a threat to them," Ulfric observed.

"They'll be wishing they'd left well enough alone," Aurelia said, draconic eyes smouldering with banked rage. "I intend to take vengeance and drive the bastards into the sea."

"You're going to war against the Altmer?" Galmar asked, sounding rather eager.

"Against the Thalmor." Aurelia leaned forward and unrolled a map of Tamriel on the cleared feasting table so that Ulfric, Galmar and Hrafn could see it. "If I destroy enough of their facilities, they'll be forced to send an army. I know for a fact there are resistances in Alinor, Valenwood and Elseweyr; if I can break the back of the Thalmor, they can finish the job."

"And what says the Empire to this?" Ulfric asked, pointing out the obvious question.

"The Empire won't be going to war with the Aldmeri Dominion, though I suspect several Legates will be sending me intelligence," Aurelia promptly answered. "I, Aurelia Dragon-Born, will be going to war with the Thalmor."

"She, the dragons who recognised her as Rekthursedovahhe, an' the boys I can spare," Hrafn added with a savage grin.

_Overlady of the Dragons._ Ulfric damned well knew what the dragons had cried on Alduin's demise and he found himself impressed by the Dragonborn pulling it off. He also damned well knew why she'd come to Windhelm.

"You want the Stormcloaks to join in," Ulfric pointed out.

"Yes. I… haven't decided whether to go for the Ruby Throne or not, but that can damned well wait until I've destroyed the Thalmor," Aurelia confirmed. "I can't make you follow me, Ulfric, but you have more experience at war and the troops that I lack. It will be a vicious campaign, air and land and possibly sea. I have no intention of being nice about this, though my focus will be on the military and espionage targets. I hope that if I can make the Thalmor bleed abroad, the sane Altmer that Swan-Neck and Gold-Lily and Legate Fasendil assure me exist in Alinor will take care of the rest."

At least she had no illusions about war; Ulfric then recalled she'd been a child of the Great War and a survivor of the Fall of Cloud Ruler. "And what if my price is to be made High King of Skyrim?"

Aurelia's smile was sharp. "You wouldn't want to be seen as the Dragonborn's puppet, Ulfric. I _do_ believe Skyrim's place is in the Empire – as Balgruuf says, "Our blood built it and our blood sustains it'."

"Do you intend to make him High King because he's fucking you?" Ulfric asked bluntly.

"I think he'd be the best candidate as a moderate between the Empire and the Stormcloaks, but I don't give a rat's ass who rules here at the moment. My concern is the destruction of the Thalmor." Something hurt edged her words beneath the cold tone, the slit pupils widening in subtle distress.

_Balgruuf doesn't want her doing this,_ Ulfric realised. And perhaps the Jarl of Whiterun had quarrelled with the woman.

"I understand. I only seek the throne because Skyrim needs a leader who will stand up to the Thalmor."

"And what if I were to provide you with the destruction of them?"

"Then I will gladly allow Balgruuf to reign. He is a fine man, but more of a steward than a warrior."

"He fights when he must!" Aurelia snapped defensively.

"I know. All true Nords do. And for all his faults, Balgruuf the Greater is a true Nord." Ulfric bowed his head to Aurelia respectfully. "As are you, and not just for destroying Alduin."

"You're just saying that to butter her up," Hrafn noted, swigging from his flagon of mead.

"I do not bestow compliments lightly," Ulfric reminded the Norc. It was hard to believe that the statuesque Aurelia and the hideous Hrafn were niece and uncle.

"At least he isn't calling me beautiful," Aurelia observed bitterly. "This beauty is what Titus Mede wanted."

_Another sore point._ Ulfric's agents in Castle Dour had revealed the words she'd exchanged with the Emperor, who proved yet again how unworthy of the seat of Tiber Septim he was. Titus Mede should have been honoured to be in the presence of the Dragonborn.

"There is a face sculptor in Riften who could reverse the changes," Ulfric pointed out. "For the death of Alduin, I would gladly pay her fee for you."

Truth be told, the flawless symmetry of her Imperial features unsettled him. Ulfric suspected that she should look more Redguard like Rustem and perhaps have Sigdrifa's underbite, though he doubted her vanity would let her go _that_ far.

Aurelia regarded him and then nodded slowly. "I'll do it. Thank you, Ulfric. Even if the Stormcloaks don't join me, thank you for this."

"I will not allow Imperial shackles to remain on any Nord," Ulfric told her sincerely. "Especially not the Dragonborn."

Hrafn leaned back and scratched his chin. "You're taking Arakh, Oleg and Gorek wherever you go," he ordered. "I'll not let the most important daughter of Half-Moon Hold go without protection."

"Protection or chaperones?" Aurelia countered dryly.

"Woman, you want to fuck as you please, go right ahead. Have a spare daughter I can marry to one of my less obnoxious boys to keep the Nord blood strong," Hrafn answered smoothly.

Ulfric coughed as the Dragonborn glared at him but didn't gainsay the Foe-Reaper. "I trust you saw Calixto Corrium's head on a pike at the gates?" he asked instead.

"Yes, and thank you for dealing with that." Aurelia sighed and shook her head. "Uncle, I don't want to be rude but I need to speak to Ulfric about the Thu'um. You and the boys had a hard ride so you should get some rest."

Hrafn nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, sweetheart. Get some sleep yourself, okay?"

"I'll try," she whispered. Ulfric shot a glance at Galmar and Ralof, both of whom got the hint and exited with the Norcs. It was finally him and the Dragonborn alone but for guards at the other end of the hall by the doors.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

"The dragons… I've killed ten, twelve and they swirl inside my head, whispering of blood and domination," Aurelia admitted, still whispering.

"How many Shouts do you know?" he asked gently. "You absorb a dragon's soul directly and its experience unlocks the meaning of a word in a Shout, as is my admittedly theoretical understanding of a Dragonborn's powers."

"I know Unrelenting Force – that was the one the Greybeards gave me – and a word of Whirlwind Sprint. I can force open doors with Bex, one word of Storm Call and that's it," she breathed.

Ulfric nodded slowly. "How many Word Walls have you encountered?"

"Kilkreath, Bleak Falls Barrow, a few others…" She shook her head wearily. "Sometimes I will just _know_ a Shout because a dragon soul knew it. But I must have consumed particularly stupid or brawny dragons, because none of them know the word Feim or Iiz or Faas… I know Clear Skies, but that's sort of useless most of the time."

"Feim means 'Fade'," Ulfric told her, oddly honoured that she trusted him with this instead of the Greybeards. But he already knew Arngeir would be horrified at her quest for vengeance… "Iiz means 'Ice'. And Faas means 'Fear'."

"Oh!" Aurelia's face twisted with concentration, draconic eyes closing, and then her expression eased. "I… understand. The souls, they just… weave into the word and imbue it."

"If a dragon was to kill you, they'd absorb your soul and those you've taken," Ulfric said warningly.

"Then I must make certain I'm not eaten by a dragon," she retorted, a hint of the dry humour that both Kai and Ralof had noted returning. "The pressure's eased a little. Thank you."

"I will scour Eastmarch for Word Walls. I must confer with the Jarls on whether to join you in this war or not, but either way I'll not leave you helpless against the Thalmor," Ulfric promised.

"Again, thank you," she whispered, then yawned. "I'm sorry, I should try and sleep."

"Then go, Dragonborn. Talos guide you."

"And you."

She left for (presumably) the Candlehearth Hall, allowing Ulfric to retreat to his brazier-flanked throne and brood.

"We'll be going to war, Ulfric," Galmar called from the war room. "She just advances what we were going to do anyway."

"I know, old friend," Ulfric agreed. "And her attitude has led me to consider a few things."

"Oh?"

Ulfric felt a wolfish grin edge his mouth. "The Nords built the Empire, Galmar. Perhaps we Stormcloaks have been remiss in trying to leave it."

"They denied Talos," Galmar pointed out, playing daedra's advocate as he always did.

"That was a weak-willed Colovian who turned the daughter of the Last Shieldmaiden of Talos into his personal harlot," Ulfric reminded him. "I would have loved to have seen the Emperor's face when he found out she was Dragonborn."

Ralof, quicker of wit than Galmar, began to grin as he crowded the doorway. "Instead of abandoning the Empire, perhaps we should rescue it from itself."

"Indeed." Ulfric lounged back in his throne. "Aurelia Dragon-Born has a certain right to it, both through her status as Dovahkiin and what she called the Katariah precedent. She was already planning to become Regent for her son."

"You'd serve her?" Galmar sounded sceptical.

"Skyrim will need a true High King and for all that she is a true Nord, Aurelia's attention will be on Cyrodiil," Ulfric assured his huscarl. "So we will go to war against the Thalmor and avenge our brethren. Hopefully, the Elder Council will be so grateful for the rescue they will acclaim her as Empress and reinstate the worship of Talos. If not, we remind them of who founded their precious Empire."

"She'll likely marry Balgruuf," Galmar noted thoughtfully.

"I hope so. He would have to resign as Jarl of Whiterun and become Emperor-Consort in Cyrodiil, making Dagny his heir." Ulfric accepted the cup of mead Jorleif brought him and drank deeply. "I am too old for the girl, but I have several loyal commanders who deserve a good wife and reward for their service."

Ralof's eyes brightened at that. As a man from Whiterun Hold who was handsome, reasonably personable and loyal, he'd be the first choice for the position of Jarl. "If we can work this out, we might get Rikke and Hadvar on our side," the Stormblade suggested.

Ulfric grinned at the man, who'd risen to his left hand for being so damned good at what he did. "That would be an excellent thing, my friend. I mourn the loss of Rikke's friendship and I know you feel the same way for Hadvar."

Ralof nodded with a smile. Then he frowned. "Balgruuf isn't happy about this war, Ulfric. What if the Dragonborn _doesn't_ marry him?"

"I don't know," Ulfric admitted, glad but frustrated Ralof had brought this possibility up. "She's trained to respond to displays of wealth and power, which is likely what drew her to Balgruuf in the first place. That much I know of the Companions of Cyrodiil."

"From personal observation, she prefers men who are taller than her," Galmar mused. "And someone who isn't intimidated by the Thu'um."

Ulfric grunted. "You're as subtle as a warhammer," he told the old warrior.

"You're the one who went there, not I," Galmar answered calmly. "Good call with the offer to pay for the face sculptor, by the way."

"Thank you, Galmar." He'd feel easier about following her with a relatively non-Imperial face. He suspected that she'd make her features a bit more Nordic and maybe rid herself of those scars. The eyes, he knew, were there to stay. It was oddly attractive, seeing those fields of turquoise with the slit pupils looking up at him gratefully.

But honestly, Ulfric couldn't manipulate a woman through sex. Not with what he'd gone through as a Thalmor prisoner, not when she'd delivered the files of what they'd done to him and not said a damned word beyond, "I'm Dibellan and using it would be against my religion."

It was a pity she wasn't more Nord, though. Ulfric was far from intimidated by powerful women and he had the feeling that Aurelia, of all people, _understood_ the scars he carried because she had similar ones.

He sighed and turned his mind to the logistics of planning a campaign. First the Thalmor Embassy and Northwatch Keep, then sweep into High Rock or Cyrodiil…


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. There will be more POVs than just Lia's and Balgruuf's in this story; the relationship between Hrafn and Lia will also be explored. The darker aspects of what I've implied with the Aurelii will be emphasised here.

My head-canon is that the Thalmor would do their best to subvert the Orcs who worship Trinimac and consider Malacath a demon, both to divide Orsinium and to gain potential shock troops against Hammerfell and High Rock.

The Norcs are slowly becoming another race, much like the Bretons are the descendants of Men and Mer. If I had any sort of modding talent, I would actually make them a custom race for Skyrim.

…

She returned to Half-Moon Hold four days after leaving Windhelm with the boys in tow, accompanied by a rosy-cheeked auburn-haired male Nord in midnight-black armour that screamed Daedric power, one of the incredibly rare mostly-Colovian Aurelii men in the robes of a battlemage, and a blocky, golden-haired Nord woman in heavy iron plate.

Hrafn rose to his feet and raised a hand to his niece, approving of the changes that this Galathil had wrought. Now Aurelia was lantern-jawed like most of the Nord-dominant Norcs, her skin more creamed coffee than the olive-bronze of the Imperials, and her fangs a little more prominent. Gone was the exotic bone-sculpted beauty, replaced by a woman who was striking but not stunningly beautiful, who looked remarkably Norcish but with a definite nod to her Ra Gada heritage.

She strode over and clasped his hand with a sorrow-tinged smile. "I took the liberty of inviting a few friends," she told the clan-chief of Half-Moon Hold. "The man in black is Brynjolf, Guild Master of the Thieves; the mage is my second cousin Marcurio; and the warrior lady is Mjoll the Lioness."

Her hair had been cut or shaped to just below the chin, coarsened and bordering on frizzy from the Ra Gada blood; if Irkand had grown out his tresses, she would have looked more his daughter than Rustem's. "You look a lot like your uncle," Hrafn told her softly.

"Irkand and Ri'saad were the closest things I had to a father," she responded grimly. "So yes, it is a little deliberate on my part."

He noticed she'd kept her scars and the criss-crossed war paint of Bruma, not seen in centuries since it was traded for Falkreath in Tiber Septim's rearrangement of the province borders, but her colour was the blue-green of the Half-Moon clan. "It suits you," he said approvingly.

"Thank you." Those huge eyes slanted sideways to Arakh, who'd neglected greeting his father in favour of harassing one of his younger brothers, and narrowed. "He's an ass and the only reason he breathes is because kinslayers don't go to Sovngarde."

"I know," Hrafn agreed softly. "I keep on sending him on the most dangerous missions I can think of to be rid of him. But each time he comes back, stronger and harder, and the other boys think I favour him by letting him build his glory."

"You fear dying at his hands, Father?" Oleg asked, eyes narrowing like Aurelia's. The resemblance between the two – when one ignored the different skin tones – was uncanny.

"Not at all, my boy. I fear for what will follow for Half-Moon Hold when he wins," Hrafn admitted to this smartest son of his. Arakh despised Oleg because he was a talented bard and scholar, preferred fine cloth to heavy orichalcum (though he certainly wore it as needed) and was three times as intelligent as the elder brutish brother. If Oleg was a little more pragmatic, Hrafn would gladly die to him.

"I've already made plans to leave if Arakh wins," Oleg answered quietly. "If Gorek or Saibash were to win, I'd gladly become their Steward. But Arakh will not allow such surrender, for he thinks we're all as greedy as he."

Gorek, Hrafn's third and quietest son, smiled wryly. "If Saibash wins, brother, you'll be running the Hold."

"What if you were to win, Gorrie?"

The rangy Norc chuckled ruefully. "You'd be wed to a Nord woman. We need to strengthen our human blood and since I look about as handsome as a troll's backside, you'd have to do."

Oleg stroked his chin thoughtfully before looking to Hrafn, who sat back down in his seat. "Father, would it be acceptable to take a more active hand in Arakh's demise? There's a lot to be worried about the future of the Hold if he wins."

Hrafn rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "Get the wisewoman. I would know the will of Malacath."

Mjoll the Lioness turned to Aurelia with a troubled expression. "I had heard that kinslaying was… common… amongst the Orcs, but I thought the Norcs more-"

"If a son defeats his father amongst us, he may spare the old chief if he wishes, though for the most part we wouldn't insult him like that," Hrafn interrupted calmly. He was used to this attitude from the pureblood Nords; the Orcish chiefs he dealt with tended to shrug their shoulders, look at the prosperity that their Hold enjoyed, and trust that Malacath approved. "My fight with my pa was a formality; he'd lost his last two wives to vampires and he wanted to fight them, but couldn't step down, so I defeated and allowed him to join the Dawnguard."

"Sons may also swear allegiance to the chief and be spared the battle in return for sacrificing their chance to be chief and likely any hope of having an Orcish wife," Oleg added with a slight smile. "They can also leave like Grand-Uncle Urag. In Half-Moon Hold, because we are mostly half-Nord, half-Orc, these sons tend to marry Nord women to strengthen our bloodlines and make alliances while our daughters bring in the honourable sons of other strongholds – or even Nord men, from time to time – and do the same."

The warrior-woman bowed her head apologetically. "I meant no insult," she answered. "Thank you for explaining it."

Oleg continued to smile. "You should be careful, Mjoll the Lioness. My brothers would consider you a fine bride, for you are as strong as an Orcish woman."

Lakhra, Hrafn's Hunts-Wife, looked up from roasting meat to eye the surprised Nord woman thoughtfully. "We will go hunting tomorrow, if you wish it," she told Mjoll. "Oleg might be right, though I'd ever despaired of him finding a decent mate."

"Wait, what? I didn't-" Oleg began to protest.

"I know that smile, boy. At least this one isn't that pretty delicate Imperial flower you wanted to kidnap from Riverwood."

Aurelia snickered, amusement easing the omnipresent grief and sorrow in her eyes, as Hrafn shifted in his chair. He was starting to ache; soon it would be his time to die.

_If Malacath approves of Arakh being put down, then I'll hold a formal challenge,_ he decided. _I'd prefer Oleg, because he thinks in the long term, but he mightn't be strong enough to hold the job._

"May I ask one thing of those who would challenge Hrafn?" the Dragonborn suddenly asked, drawing a silence from the entire hall.

"Of course, Dragonborn," Sofja, the Hold wisewoman and Hrafn's aunt, answered for everyone as she hobbled in.

"If my uncle agrees, I'd like him to continue service as a personal adviser. He fought in the Great War and since I intend to make war on the Thalmor, I'll need every veteran I can get." Aurelia looked to him for approval, forcing Hrafn to start considering the pros and cons.

"I will put your request to Malacath," Sofja responded, coming closer to the fire with the troll's fat and daedra heart using for contacting the Prince of the Spurned. She was Nord-dominant like Hrafn but had never married, mostly from having a preference for her own gender and a dislike of children, and Malacath had approved of her studying at the College of Winterhold with Urag to become the wisewoman. Sigdrifa the Cross-Eyed, Hrafn's second daughter, was already being apprenticed as her second.

Aurelia nodded. "Of course. I understand."

The wisewoman smiled up at her grandniece. "To forge your own destiny is a powerful thing, daughter of Sigdrifa. I will petition Malacath to consider your hunting of Alduin as a womanhood rite so you can be accepted amongst us."

The Dragonborn blinked before nodding slowly, a desperate gratitude flashing in those big dragon eyes. "Thank you," she said softly.

Sofja performed the simple ritual to contact Malacath as everyone fell silent. Saibash, who'd fetched the wisewoman at Hrafn's gesture, walked up to the group near the older Norc's chair. "I will offer allegiance to Gorek," he murmured. "Oleg is too… fancy and Arakh is a mad dog."

"Gorek, you and Oleg would be a good team," Hrafn agreed softly. "I'd be relieved."

"Good." Gorek, a steady young man, folded his arms and smiled toothily.

_"Sofja," _growled the Daedric Prince of the Orcs, shutting everyone up. _"I see you've got quite a bit of news."_

The wisewoman made a noise of assent and filled the God in, clarifying points with Hrafn and Aurelia, while Malacath made thoughtful sounds. When she was done, the blue-green ball of light that was the Prince of the Bloody Curse's presence dimmed consideringly.

_"Ah-Ree-Lah may consider herself one of us. Killing Alduin was a mighty deed and where others might crumple and cry on the death of her son, she intends to bring blood and fire upon those who have wronged so many."_

"Thank you," Aurelia responded, bowing her head slightly.

_"Don't thank me yet. I want the Priesthood of Trinimac destroyed. That god is dead – that past is dead – but the Thalmor are using it for their own purposes."_ Malacath sighed bitterly. _"We are what we are now. You cannot turn back time, though those goldskin wretches would certainly try."_

"Colour me unsurprised, lad," Brynjolf, hitherto silent, observed dryly.

_"You see to the heart of the matter, Nightingale,"_ Malacath agreed with a touch of politeness.

"So I will need to unleash dragons on Orsinium too. _That_ will increase my popularity," Aurelia observed dryly.

_"Sometimes a mace works better than a warhammer,"_ Malacath observed quietly. _"Your enemy is more entrenched and dangerous than you might think."_

"I understand," Aurelia agreed with a sigh. "I will do my best."

_"Hrafn, if it is your wish, you may become the girl's adviser. A woman-chief is rare, but there have been a few,"_ Malacath continued. _"As for the rest, how you deal with your clan's weak points is your business, not mine."_

Oleg and Gorek exchanged a satisfied look as Hrafn nodded, rising to his feet and using Telekinesis to call his war scythe to hand. "Then I might as well begin now," he decreed. "Arakh! Gorek! Prepare for battle!"

"Wait, what?" Arakh blurted.

"You heard me. You're a fucking thug who didn't have the decency to lead the Hold. I have been informed by a neighbouring Jarl that he will contact the Dark Brotherhood to kill you if you become Chief," Hrafn announced grimly.

"Saibash and I would make for poor chiefs," Oleg confessed to Malacath. "For the good of the Hold, we relinquish our claims."

_"Sometimes the stronger man isn't the one who can win every fight, but the one who knows when fighting isn't the best for the people,"_ Malacath said approvingly as Arakh drew his warhammer and Gorek began to examine his mace.

"This isn't what I expected," Mjoll confessed to Marcurio and Brynjolf as Hrafn stepped away from his chair into the rapidly clearing battle-circle.

"You should meet Urag," Marcurio observed. "He's a fucking librarian, but no one would call him weak."

"My brother never accepted shit from anyone," Sofja said proudly.

"I will kill you," Arakh informed his father grimly. "And I will drive the weak from our Hold."

"Come on then, I ain't got all day," Hrafn retorted.

Arakh entered the berserk fury, turquoise eyes blank and hot at the same time. His greatsword swung overtime in great arcs that would have sheared body parts from Hrafn if they'd actually connected. But the older, savvier fighter simply stayed out of reach, letting his eldest son exhaust himself fruitlessly as Durak once had with another fool of a son on his first challenge to the old man.

Then when Arakh was stumbling, Hrafn himself slipped into the cold battle-fury that was beginning to define this Hold, Nord and Orc alike. Oleg Half-Human and Sofja Bright-Moon had both been Companions who saw the weaknesses of their respective races in the wake of the Oblivion Crisis, choosing to petition both Talos and Malacath for the right to marry and breed up a new group of children who could fight with a berserker's fury but remain cold as the winds of Skyrim. Talos had ignored them, but Malacath had been intrigued. _"If you are strong enough, you will thrive. If not, you will die,"_ the Daedric Prince observed.

So far they'd survived and thrived. Arakh, fool boy, would see the Norcs of Half-Moon Hold become Orcs and Nords, weaker than the sum of their parts, pissing on the legacy of warrior ancestors.

Time slowed for Hrafn as it had when battling his father, Arakh's blade lifted above his head for one last desperate overhand blow, leaving his torso exposed. The Foe-Reaper raised his orichalcum war scythe, modelled on the Akaviri weapon by a Blades smith as a gift from Arius when Rustem married Sigdrifa, and sliced his son in two, then into quarters with two swift cold strikes.

Arakh's eyes were aware enough for a moment to show a desperate shock and fear before his dismembered corpse hit the ground with multiple wet smacks.

Hrafn had barely time to savour the victory before Gorek entered the fray with his mace, taking advantage of the Foe-Reaper's overextended body to break his right forearm with one solid blow. Even in the ice fury, Hrafn couldn't hold his weapon, and the scythe clattered to the ground atop the remnants of Arakh.

"Always know when to strike the steel," Gorek, son of Jagrusha the Forge-Wife, noted with a sad smile.

"Good job, my boy," Hrafn said to his third son proudly. "Will you have my life?"

Gorek shook his head with a wry smile to Aurelia, who'd watched stonily. "Our cousin has need of you. If Mother and Aunty Lakhra wish to follow you to Cyrodiil, I understand."

"We will, my son. I know of your romance with Ghorza gra-Bagol," Jagrusha said with fierce pride. "She will make for a fine Forge-Wife."

Gorek nodded thoughtfully. "I will need to travel to Whiterun. I am thinking of Uthgerd the Unbroken as a suitable Hunts-Wife. If I would have Oleg marry a Nord woman, then so should I."

"You'd take a failed Companion?" Oleg asked with some surprise.

"I would take a woman who continues fighting despite being spurned and outcast," Gorek corrected with a smirk. "She will fit in better here."

_"A good chief leads by example,"_ Malacath approved. _"I will admit to having second and even third thoughts about this idea of Sofja and Oleg's. A fool idea, I thought, when Nords and Orcs hated each other. But just like Gortwog – jackass though he was, he still did much for our people – you have created something bigger than yourselves. From now on, the Norcs will breed true so long as they follow My Code and don't become weaklings."_

Hrafn, despite his broken arm, found himself grinning broadly. "Thank you, Malacath," he said gratefully.

_"Win this war for us all, Hrafn, Ah-Ree-Lah. The powers behind the Thalmor would remake the world in Their image, something I'd rather not see happen,"_ Malacath commanded. _"And purge the Priesthood of Trinimac."_

Aurelia's stony expression barely flickered as she nodded. "I will see it done."

_"Good."_ Malacath's presence faded from the hall, leaving everyone stunned and awed.

Gorek nodded to his father. "Get that healed. You'll need to be fit enough to face the Thalmor."

Hrafn smiled grimly. "I will mow them down like golden wheat."

"Good… Saibash, you're going with him. You're about the only one who doesn't feel the urge to smack the Stormcloaks whenever they open their mouths."

Saibash nodded with a smirk. "Wise of our cousin to have them as her ground-troops even if the Empire are being cowardly sacks of shit."

"If we fail, the Legions will be the last stand of mortalkind," Aurelia corrected grimly. "Congratulations, Gorek, but I need to be alone."

"Of course, kinswoman," the new Jarl of Half-Moon Hold said easily, settling down on Hrafn's former chair with the same comfortable grace as the Foe-Reaper had. "You have a lot to consider."

Aurelia nodded and left the hall into the night-shrouded courtyard. Her human friends were given places as guests of honour as Hrafn went to get his arm tended by his aunt.

Sofja, as always, was quick and competent with her Restoration magic. "You will need to keep an eye on her," the wisewoman advised gently. "Or she will become a monster."

"Because she is so powerful?" Hrafn asked, surprised.

"No, because she has learned to truly hate. If that hate overwhelms her…"

Hrafn sighed as his arm was splinted gently. "I'd feel easier if Irkand was here. The man was an evil sonuvabitch, but he was a calm, patient, steady one."

"I noticed that Balgruuf isn't here with her."

"His allegiance is to the Empire and with Torygg dead, he's the best candidate for High King." Hrafn's voice was grim. "I'd feel easier if he was with us too, but Skyrim needs someone who can stop everyone from killing each other."

"She needs someone to stop her from killing everyone," Sofja pointed out. "She's got Sigdrifa's temper."

Hrafn shuddered, knowing the wisewoman was correct. "I'll do my best," he promised.

_And if I have to, I'll put her down,_ he thought sadly. Because the world didn't need another Talos.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Back to this because my government's budget has put me in the right frame of mind to write a pissed-off Lia. However, because I can't get into her headspace, her actions will be seen through the eyes of others. Trigger warnings for implied torture and the Thu'um doing bad things to mer bodies.

…

"You know what I like about human women? They have so much more variety than Altmer ones."

Legate Fasendil wasn't quite sure why his mouth was running when the Thalmor had him chained up in Northwatch Keep but he figured that he'd continue insulting the bastards until he could form no words. They had destroyed his home, made his people into a mockery of themselves, and now they were openly kidnapping Altmer Legionnaires to torture whatever they knew out of them.

Elenwen slapped his face. Fasendil wondered why the high and mighty Ambassador was here instead of her cosy digs at the Embassy. There was something brittle in her features, the glint of fear in her large eyes; she was running scared. That cheered up the Legate somewhat.

"I mean, you can usually tell the difference between a human woman and a human man. But with Altmer? You need them naked. And frankly, some mer should never be naked."

"Trying to buy time for a rescue, Legate?" Elenwen sneered, wrenching the male mer's head up by the chin. "The Legion will not save you."

"True. You've bought enough Legates to make that happen and Tullius is chickenshit when it comes to this sort of thing," Fasendil agreed wryly. "But at least I can face the Soldier's God with my head held high, knowing I've done my duty as a Legionnaire."

"Talos is not a god!" Elenwen hissed, fear beneath her fury.

Ondolemar, head of the Justicars in Skyrim, entered the torture chamber with a bored expression on his haughty face. "Madame Ambassador, I must inform you that another dragon has been sighted."

Elenwen rounded on him. "Unless it is attacking the Keep, I don't care! The dragon threat has settled down these past few weeks."

"I believed it to be of note because it was the only scarlet dragon in Skyrim and there is a woman in Arch-Mage's robes on its back," Ondolemar answered blandly. Fasendil blinked painfully; shouldn't the Justicar be more worried? Because that sounded like Aurelia Dragon-Born.

_"What?"_ Now the fear was thick in Elenwen's voice.

"I do believe, Madame Ambassador, that the Dragonborn has come calling," Ondolemar said, actually smirking.

"She's… here?" Elenwen collected herself, golden eyes wide with terror but her voice now icy calm. "Prepare the Wizards. The Thu'um is reliant upon magicka, based upon my observations with Ulfric, and we will need to shock her into submission. The purge begun at Cloud Ruler will be finished here today, brother, and our long work's end in sight."

"I've already done all of that," Ondolemar said calmly. "We are prepared for an aerial assault."

"Good. I claim the right of execution myself. My knife will end the Septim lineage once and for all."

_The… WHAT?_ Fasendil didn't bother struggling but his entire body went rigid. It made so much sense: he'd fought in the Oblivion Crisis, at Bruma and in the Imperial City, and wherever Martin Septim went Aurelia Northstar followed. The brawler, unique for her clan, had borne one son and never taken another lover, though there were a few men, not intimidated by the fact she could break most of them in half, who tried. When she'd exactly died was unclear because the Aurelii refused to tell, though one persistent rumour had her as the Madgoddess, literally mantling Sheogorath. Given she could have taught Orcish berserkers a lesson or two in battle-rage, Fasendil wouldn't be surprised.

"Congratulations. You've killed the Dragonborn's son and uncle, and now she's coming for you," Fasendil grinned. "At least I can die happy knowing that the true Imperial lineage continues."

Distracted, Elenwen spun to punch him in the face, nose breaking on the impact of her gauntleted fist. "I will leave you alive along enough to watch her die, you fucking traitor!" she screamed.

"If you're wise, you'd be running," he advised, spitting out blood. "She's the direct descendant of Aurelia Northstar and I suspect she's got the lady's temper."

"She's worse," Ondolemar observed softly. "Northstar never had the Dragonborn desire to dominate and conquer."

"See? Berserker temper and Talos' own pride. Best get running, old girl, before you die slowly." Fasendil figured that this was worth dying for. He could go to the gods seeing Elenwen absolutely red-gold with fury.

"Ambassador, we need to flee!" yelled the Northwatch Commander from outside. "There's dragons… and the fucking Stormcloaks!"

_"FUS RO DAH!"_ Right on cue, Ulfric's Thu'um shattered the front doors.

"He'll probably kill us all indiscriminately, but may I say it's been a pleasure to see you piss yourself?" Fasendil drawled as the sharp scent of urine filled the air.

"There's no back entrance," Ondolemar noted dispassionately.

The Justicar removed his outer robe to reveal a simple shirt and breeches… with a tanto and wazikashi strapped to his back, visible to Fasendil but not Elenwen. The Legate grinned, showing bloody teeth. Ondolemar had been so blatant about the Thalmor's motives that Fasendil had wondered if he were trying to undermine the Dominion, because no one that blunt and stupid reached Justicar rank in Alinor.

The mer gave Fasendil a wry grin as Elenwen cast Stoneskin to prepare herself for the retribution coming. Then he smoothly drew both blades from behind his back, slashing Elenwen across the thighs with that crisscross double-cut Blades liked to do when they were showing off.

The Ambassador fell with a cry of pain, her mage-armour spluttering and fading. "Magicka poison – you… you…" She was trying to find the words but her face contorted in paralysis.

"Magicka and paralysis poisons," Ondolemar confirmed softly. "I doubt that my mother or sister have managed to alert Aurelia Dragon-Born as to my being Aurelii, but at least I can die as Marius Aurelius of the Blades instead of Ondolemar the Justicar."

"You… led… me… Tricked me… Thieves' Guild."

"Yes, I did." Ondolemar – no, Marius – sheathed his daggers and turned to unshackle Fasendil, much to the Legate's relief. "I suspect they'll kill me, but I am a Blade, and we've been waiting for someone like Aurelia Dragon-Born for a long time. Mother thought it would be Martin, her son, but Nurancar certainly ruined that plan."

"Secure the doors," bellowed Ulfric, too close for any Altmer's comfort. "And find Thorald."

"We already did," said another Nord. "He's… in a bad way. Shivering, convulsions but feverish."

"Give him blue mountain flower, a touch of deathbell and wheat steeped in boiled water!" Marius yelled in reply. "Elenwen gave him a particular nasty Thalmor hallucinogenic."

"If he dies, Altmer, I will bury you at his feet to serve in eternity!" promised the second Nord. "My brother will have a dozen Altmer thralls in Sovngarde!"

"See it done. We have no choice and there is no Thu'um to cure the sick." Ulfric's voice was just on the other side of the door.

Fasendil found himself helped to his feet by the Blade as the door opened to reveal Ulfric, resplendent in his chainmail and fur, accompanied by a big ugly bastard with an orichalcum war-scythe and a woman in Archmage's robes who could only be the Dragonborn.

"Well, if it ain't my old friend Marius," greeted the Norc, grinning broadly. "Ulfric, you can trust this guy. He was an undercover Blade."

"Ulfric should well know me," Marius answered quietly. "Seeing as I turned the key to release him."

"Swan-Neck's son, so I'm told," Aurelia Dragon-Born observed softly. "And is that – by the Gods – _Fasendil_?"

"Imperial Legate Fasendil of the Fifth Bruma at your service," the mer answered, managing a grin he hoped was charming. This close, seeing the draconic eyes roiling with power, he felt both awe and fear. But he'd faced worse during the Oblivion Crisis and if nothing else, this woman could destroy the Dominion.

"And Titus let them take the one mer in the Legion who knows Alinor inside and out," Aurelia said flatly. "Ulfric, this is one of the mer I told you about."

"A Blade and a Legate," the Jarl of Windhelm said flatly. "Where is Elenwen?"

"Just cast Invisibility when she really ought to have used Cure Poison," Marius noted dryly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Ulfric barked in laughter just before Aurelia cried out, slashed across the shin by Elenwen's no doubt poisoned dagger. The Dragonborn fell to one knee as Elenwen appeared, golden light swirling around her body. "If I die here, so does the Septim lineage!" she hissed, slashing again with her dagger at the woman.

_"IIZ!"_ Aurelia Shouted, encasing the mer woman in ice. Face twisting in agony, the Dragonborn struggled to her feet before holding out an arm, staring the prone Elenwen right in the eyes. Restoration magic shone like a corona around the mage as the poison literally seeped through her pores, dripping into the Ambassador's exposed face. Fasendil, a shitty mage even by _Orc_ standards, felt her magicka expand and breathed in awe; how powerful a mage was Aurelia?

"Magicka poison and a slowing one," the woman who had become Arch-Mage observed, allowing herself to be supported by the big ugly-ass Norc. "You would have slain me quickly but for me, it would have felt like an eternity."

"Kill you… Free us all from these mortal shells to rejoin… the Aedra…" Elenwen hissed.

"As I promised, Ulfric, she's yours," the Dragonborn told the Jarl of Windhelm. "I need to heal up Fasendil anyway as he's going to be one of our main generals."

"I would have understood if you took her life," the Stormcloak said in surprised pleasure.

"I want her husband. Elenwen did you the most wrong, so she's all yours."

Fasendil was very glad to be helped from the torture chamber by Marius because Elenwen's screams took a long time to end.

…

It felt strange to be wearing his tanto and wazikashi openly, to be greeted by the name his mother had given him, and to be sitting around the fire with Stormcloaks who were singing drinking songs with Fasendil, an earthy Altmer who could win over nearly anyone. Marius stared into the bottle of Alto wine someone had found for him before looking up to Hrafn, the brother of the only woman he'd ever… loved? Perhaps that wasn't the word, as there were a shared attraction between them born of a mutual hatred for Rustem Aurelius, but Marius liked to think he cared about Sigdrifa a little.

"With me," the Norc commanded softly. "A lot needs to be said and all of it private."

Marius noticed he was favouring his right arm as they left the campfire to climb the hill overlooking Northwatch Keep, now ringed by Altmer heads. Every prisoner who was able to fight and be healed within had immediately sworn their allegiance to Ulfric and Aurelia Dragon-Born. But despite the triumph, Hrafn looked more worried than proud.

"In vengeance, she is Sigdrifa's child," the Norc finally said once they were out of earshot but in full view of Stormcloak sentries.

"I noticed," Marius agreed grimly. "I find it hard to pity Elenwen though."

"Orcs kill their enemies quick because so long as they're alive, they'll be able to kill you," the Foe-Reaper observed. "But Lia let Ulfric indulge his need for vengeance instead of making sure the kill was quick and clean."

The Norc folded his arms, rubbing the right forearm absently. "We need to destroy the Dominion. But I'm also Second Blade now and it's my duty to make sure the order doesn't get out of line. Up to and including the Dragonborn."

"You want me to be Third Blade." Marius was no fool and, if he had to be honest with himself, he'd fitted into the role of Justicar far too well.

"I would have preferred Irkand but that man died protecting her boy. In Sovngarde and everything," Hrafn said sadly. "I wish Balgruuf were here. He's got a way of steadying Aurelia."

"Oiran," Marius murmured. "Why is he not?"

"Because Skyrim needs a competent High King while we're killing Thalmor," Hrafn answered flatly.

"If I am understanding your implications correctly, you want me in place to deal with the Dragonborn if she becomes…"

"A monster. I ain't saying the Greybeards are all right, but Aurelia has Sigdrifa's tendency to hold a grudge and Rustem's inability to see the bigger picture." Hrafn sighed regretfully. "A good chief fosters the virtues in his kin and tries to mitigate their faults. But if they're a threat to the stronghold, he cuts them down without hesitation."

"It may take fire to fight fire," Marius finally answered. "But… I will keep your words in mind."

"Good." Hrafn looked up at the aurora. "I know you slept with Sigdrifa and why. Hatred can be a powerful thing."

"It can be indeed. I… like to think I cared for her, in my way." Marius sighed. "She and Rustem should never have married."

"On that, I agree. Handsome fella says hello to her and she's all in love. My pa went for it because even though Malacath wouldn't recognise her, she was still blood and deserved to be settled, yeah? Ain't the first alliance we had with the Aurelii, though I bet none of them remember Sofja's daughter Jana, she who bore Northstar after a fling with that Aurelii mage. We gave the kid to the clan in good faith and they clean forgot about it."

"It was a little before my time," Marius admitted, though he could well imagine why Swan-Neck wanted to pretend Northstar had come out of nowhere.

"You and Siggie were a fair team. Maybe if you two had met first…"

"My mother would have murdered your sister," Marius answered, sighing once more. "She'd have never let the line of Takeshi become sullied by…"

"I know what you mean." Hrafn's voice had hardened. "A lot can be laid at your mama's feet, boy. I know who she was and how she wound up that way. But it won't absolve her of what she did to Northstar, to Sigdrifa or even Lia."

Marius shuddered as he imagined Lia and Ralinde's next meeting. There had been the Aurelii and then there had been Ralinde Swan-Neck, the jewel of the clan, Altmer who was the oiran of Talos and daughter of Takeshi. But she was old and weary, the Dragonborn full of vengeance and fury…

"At the moment, Lia's vengeance is guided towards the Thalmor," Hrafn said softly. "But what will happen, with Ulfric at her side, when ordinary Altmer begin to fight back to protect what they perceive as a danger to them?"

"She'll make Talos and the Numidium look like a child's play battle," he breathed. "Is it already that bad?"

"It's a might-be Malacath shared with my aunt," Hrafn said softly. "The language of dragons is the language of… Nirn, I guess. Ulfric has his own plans for Lia and he probably thinks he's doing the right thing. Tamriel united sounds like a great idea, don't it?"

"But not if the continent is drowning in blood as it was under Talos," Marius agreed. He'd seen the Altmer records of the time and… while he still despised the Thalmor, he could see how they went to such lengths to fight against humanity. The Blade believed Talos was an Aedra, but _not_ a Divine. Great, yes, and perhaps worthy of veneration as with any notable ancestor – but not as one of the great Ancestors.

"I hope it don't come to this," Hrafn continued, turning to look down at the partying Stormcloaks. "I hope that you and I can keep her from becoming genocidal. But if she becomes such, better the Thalmor continue to exist than for her to make Talos look like a baby."

Marius nodded in agreement. "I see your point," he said softly. "You would make the better advisor. I am an Altmer who was a Justicar, even if it was a deep-cover Blade."

Hrafn inclined his head and offered his hand. They clasped forearms, men who could have been brothers, and returned to the feast. Aedra willing it would not come to what Malacath had warned of, but if it did, at least two were ready to do what must be done.


End file.
